Among Blood, Region, and School Ties, the Best Is...
Today was December 25th. In the original world, it would have been a red-letter day called Christmas or Christmas Day. But here, it was just an ordinary Monday.
Of course, if you wanted to nitpick, it wasn't entirely ordinary.
"This month's territorial tax payment has been completed. Would you like a receipt?"
"No need. Thanks for your hard work."
The reason today didn't feel entirely ordinary was that it marked the end of the twelfth month in the year 562 of the Ailene calendar—and the final tax payment day to the territorial office for the year. There were only a few days left until the year ended, but knowing there were no more payments due to the office brought a small sense of relief.
'Phew... Not much time left, but these remaining days are mine to enjoy freely.'
After paying this month's dues and stepping out of the territorial office, Walter, who had been waiting outside, opened the carriage door and bowed his head to me.
"Welcome back, Director."
"Let's head out right away."
"Yes, please board."
Even if I hadn't been transported to this isekai world, December 25th wouldn't have meant much to me. Back home, as an atheist, Christmas was just a holiday when the hospital closed—nothing more.
'It wasn't simply a day off. A month before Christmas, patients desperate to look beautiful for the holidays would flood in. It was my reward for working hard that month.'
—Get even prettier for Christmas!
—Shine at Christmas parties and year-end gatherings with radiant skin!
—Winter dry skin solutions! Hydration and elasticity at once!
Ads like those posted on SNS, billboards, and bus stops around early December always drew solid, immediate responses.
'Though honestly, I didn't even need the promo back then. Reservations were booked solid three months in advance.'
In this isekai world, patients didn't swarm like back on Earth, to the point of barely catching a breath. But even without SNS marketing, about a year and a half after my arrival, the Beauty Tower's overwhelming growth had sales skyrocketing.
The existing magic towers—isekai's equivalent of university hospitals—were overrun by undertakers instead of doctors, with medical standards and hygiene that would make medieval Europe blush.
Anyone who'd experienced even one treatment at the Beauty Tower would notice the difference crystal clear. No reason to voluntarily visit those torture chambers unless you were some freak who wanted amputation.
Plus, this world's advantage was the nobility class. Dressed in extravagant clothes and jewelry, nobles spent lavishly, dropping massive sums per treatment. Sure, most were rotten personalities, but lately, the rude patients had thinned out.
I was an earl now, after all.
'Man... In some ways, this isekai might be easier to live in? Here, treating a simple mole, wart, or freckle feels like curing an incurable disease.'
As I smiled contentedly, savoring the metallic scent of gold tingling in my nostrils, the magic carriage carrying Walter and me pulled up in front of the Beauty Tower.
"Please go ahead, Director. I'll park the carriage and follow right behind."
"Thanks for the hard work. I'll head in first."
Walter manipulated the crystal orb inside the magic carriage to send it to the underground parking lot, and I headed toward the Beauty Tower's main entrance, where the Cash Shop was.
Whirr—
The first-floor automatic doors slid open, enveloping me in a rush of warm, cozy air. Along with a heartwarming sight.
"Haa... No, once a week is too much! At least increase the amount a bit? Making us wait like this is ridiculous!"
"I'm getting headaches because I'm out of gum, and my digestion's off too."
"My concentration's shot, and my nerves are on edge for no reason!"
"My throat's dry, and I feel like coughing. Without the gum, my health's gone weird...."
"I can't shake my fatigue. Ow, my shoulders."
"I've got insomnia...."
Stepping into the Beauty Tower's first floor, I saw a horde of elves—dressed like a flock of sheep—swarming Cache and chattering noisily.
'Excellent. Addicted in just ten days.'
Ten days ago, on December 15th. After treating Travan's kidney stones, I'd given not just him but his entire clan a heartwarming gift: 2mg nicotine gum.
Nicotine gum comes in small boxes like Tylenol, typically with 30 pieces per pack. The daily max is 15 pieces. But when I offered it for free, the pointy-ears started chomping through 15 pieces a day like clockwork.
'By day two, they'd emptied a whole pack each. On day three, they all came for refills.'
The elves had no clue. Starting day three, the gum they got wasn't 2mg—it was 4mg, heavy smoker strength.
There's an old saying: love freebies, end up bald. Watching these pointy-ears devour the free nicotine gum and get perfectly hooked in just ten days? Spot on.
'This level... they're shaking like junkies in withdrawal. Healthy hair needs good blood flow, but nicotine constricts peripheral vessels and messes with capillary circulation. High blood nicotine also starves the scalp of nutrients.'
"Oh, come on... You know why. It's not that I'm withholding on purpose—this special healthy gum is exclusive to the Director, so I can't just hand it out willy-nilly!"
"Nooo! Just give it already—what's so hard? Stock up in advance!"
"Yeah! Who cares who gives it? You're ripping us off for 'treatment fees' anyway, right? And you promised herbs too!"
"Exactly! It's annoying getting it straight from the Director every time!"
"Even if you tell me, I can't help it. It's in the contract terms... Oh? Director!"
Cache spotted me entering and waved frantically, her face lighting up like she'd found her savior. Of course, it was all calculated. That's why I loved Cache.
"Hey, Director! Where've you been? We've been looking everywhere!"
"Hand over the healthy gum quick! That's why we're here."
"Ugh, seriously. Hurry up! I'm dizzy!"
No respect or reverence for their employer—me—from these pointy-eared lot. Watching their manners, I was glad I'd started training them with nicotine gum from day one.
"Sorry about that. I had some urgent business. But... what should we do? Healthy gum production's delayed due to material shortages."
Pure bullshit, of course. Thanks to the witches, we'd sourced nicotine-containing herbs here, and I'd ordered mass production after top-shelf OTC meds. We had years' worth stockpiled—not just for these elves, but for the Black Moon cult ex-inquisitors and potion co-op goons too. Shortages? Impossible.
"...What? N-No gum? You bastard! You had us fetch this herb, that herb, worked us to the bone—and now no healthy gum? That make any sense?"
The first to explode at the news—no nicotine gum, rather—was Travan, the elf village chief who'd sobbed like a baby during his kidney stone treatment not long ago. His hands trembled from missing his 15-a-day fix, sweat beading at his temples. Seeing Travan hit my expectations faster than hoped brought a satisfied smile.
But I hid my glee, feigning deep regret as I rummaged in my subspace pouch.
"I'm truly sorry, everyone. But check the contract from the 15th—it specifies that healthy gum welfare can be substituted with other health supplements or devices. Use this in the meantime."
"No, ha... What's the substitute?"
Travan licked his parched lips from sudden nicotine cutoff, eyes darting to the box I pulled out.
"It's called a patch. Calms the mind and boosts focus. No chewing fun like gum, but functionally similar."
"Oh... Really? Sounds good then?"
Life returned to Travan and the elves' eyes. They'd proven nicotine hooks you in ten days flat.
'Blood ties, regional ties, school ties—nah, smoking's the best. They've lost their minds.'
Before my isekai transfer, experts from the UK Royal Society of Medicine—chemists, forensic scientists, pharmacologists—ranked addictive substances. Heroin took first, cocaine second. Nipping at their heels for bronze? Nicotine from tobacco.
85% of quitters relapse. Don't start—it's poison.
'Perfect gift for these skull-measuring elves, better than multivitamins. Barbarians beat barbarians, after all.'
Recalling "eye for an eye," I pulled a nicotine patch from the box in my subspace pouch, flashing a warm smile.
"Attach the health patch to hairless, flat, low-movement spots like between shoulder and elbow, or thigh."
"Hmph, convenient. Unlike humans, elves only have head hair."
"I see. Now, precautions: It absorbs fast, so rotate sites daily—don't reuse the same spot...."
The moment I finished explaining, the elves peeled off the aluminum backing and slapped patches firmly on their upper arms.
Seeing them soak in nicotine steadily again filled me with contentment.
"Nico—er, health patches release healthy components all day—24 hours. Replace once daily. We'll rush healthy gum production too."
Nicotine patches deliver 1mg per hour through skin. 16-hour and 24-hour versions exist; I gave them 16-hour.
'Might feel insufficient for these heavy smokers now.'
You appreciate value after loss. Desperation breeds obedience. These gum-soaked elves wouldn't be satisfied with low-dose patches.
'And my next gift? Not patches or gum—liquid vapes.'
Vape them into oblivion, then intermittent forced quits to mold obedient slaves. Sudden withdrawal from nicotine saturation? Like wet socks in shoes. Not my problem, though.
Lost in that pleasant thought—
"Gaaah! M-Monster!"
"What the hell is that! Is that a human face?"
"R-Run! It's a monster!"
Cash Shop customers screamed suddenly, diving under cafe tables or fleeing outside. The commotion's source approached me.
"Long time no see, Miner."
"...Your Grace, the Grand Duke?"
A familiar face. Once handsome, now swathed in pitch-black snakes: Tolstoy Lancaster, the Northern Duke, sought me out with grief-stricken features.